does business with Mike Flannery from sivin A.M. till nine P.M. Worrds
that is not in th' three hunderd ye may spell as ye please, Mr. Warold,
for there be no rule agin it, and in conversation or correspondince with
Mike Flannery, before th' hour av sivin and after th' hour av nine, ye
may spell as ye please, and I will do th' same, for thin I am off duty;
but durin' th' office hours th' whole dang list from 'abridgment' t'
'wrapt' must be spelled accordin' t' orders. Yis, sir, 'polyp' and
'dactyl' and th' whole rist av thim. So tek th' package an' change th'
address like a good man."

Mr. Warold glared at Flannery, and then turned to the door. He took one
or two stiff strides, and then turned back. Anger was well enough as a
luxury, but the Phoenix Sulphur Company had telegraphed for the tags,
and business was a necessity. The tags must go out by the first train.
He leaned over the counter and smiled at Flannery. Flannery glared back.

"See here, now, Flannery," he said gently, "you don't want to get into
trouble with the United States Government, do you? And maybe get
yourself and your president and every employee and officer of your
company in jail for no one knows how long, do you? Well, then, just
telegraph to your president and ask him whether he makes an exception in
favour of the old spelling of names of companies, will you? That will do
no harm. Tell him a package is offered, and tell him the address, and
let him decide."

Flannery considered a moment and then took his telegraph pad.

"President Interurban, Franklin," he wrote, "Shall i take pakag for
Phoenix Sulphur Company, Armourdale. Anser quick. Westcote."